Best Lunch Ever
by SheyRicci
Summary: Melanie's late returning from lunch, but she just couldn't stop watching the occupants of the big, black car. (this is from her POV)


Time to return to work, Melanie sighed. Having completed her shopping, she had stopped at the small café counter within the store to purchase an ice tea and pretzel and now sat in her car, the window down to munch on her snack while she read her receipt to ensure the cashier had checked her out correctly.

Well, that was what she was supposed to be doing.

Oh, she was indeed munching on her pretzel, licking the salt off first, the cup in the other hand, but the receipt lay ignored on the passenger seat, completely forgotten. For who would waste their time reading when they could put the window down, enjoy the sunny spring day and watch _that_! And, _that_ was one fine specimen of maleness. Was that a word? Did it matter? No, it didn't, for sitting alone in her car in the mega store parking lot, who was there to correct her?

Across a lane or two in the parking lot, a man had emerged from the passenger seat of a large four-door black car. He stood, oh-hum-yum, and stretched, blinking up at the sun, basking in its welcomed warmth. His hair was a bit long for her tastes but it wasn't what held her attention. No, that would be his arms, those lovely forearms raised over his head as he arched his back to the left, then to the right, his face scruffy from sleep and lack of recently applied razor.

Dressed in jeans and a V-neck t-shirt he finally dropped his arms and turned to open the rear passenger door. No one got out and he didn't get in. Well, not completely. He leaned in, the t-shirt riding up to reveal a tanned back that appeared to be as toned at those lovely arms.

Ooh—aah-awww, she sighed. Yes!

She could see him move about, doing what, she had no idea. He appeared to reach over the front seat several times, maybe moved things to the floor, or maybe reached over to the opposite foot well to retrieve something. He was definitely moving 'stuff' around, but drat it, she couldn't make out what.

So, a baby? Probably. A man like that wouldn't be unattached. Even if he were gay, he'd be taken. Any man who looked like that was taken.

She pulled a pout. Perhaps he was divorced or widowed or…..oh, no. No such luck. He was taken indeed, for handsome had poked his head out of the car and was looking over its roof at the redhead pushing a cart towards the car as she called a greeting.

Odd, even with the window down and a clear view, she couldn't make out what either was saying and then Mr. Hunk disappeared back into the depths of the car. Well, his head and shoulders anyway, his feet remained on the pavement and that pert ass stayed in clear, unimpeded view. Weee-eee-weee-heee!

Melanie swung her attention back to Red who, having arrived at the car, reached through the driver's window, emerged with the keys, opened the trunk and began transferring bags from the cart. Melanie waited for Mr. Hunk to come around and help her but he didn't, so she swung her attention back to him. Red picked up a multi-pack of paper towels, tore it open and handed one roll at a time through the open window of the driver's door. Odd, if Mr. Hunk was taking them from her over the seat, why didn't she just open the back door? Wait…..what was Red passing through the window now?

Oh, Melanie moaned, if only she could see better! Wait, she held the pretzel between her teeth and leaned over to dig through her glove compartment. She often walked her dog at the park and had a pocket-sized pair of binoculars for searching out woodpeckers in the parks trees. There! She'd just lower the sun visor and no one would know she was curiously spying on the couple and the big black car. She just had to know what was going on in that backseat!

Now that was better – much better! She saw hands, more than one man should possess and that looked like a shirt, oh, and that was a shoe and that was – weirdly but undoubtedly - a pillow. She zeroed her field glasses in on Red who was once again unloading bags from her cart in the trunk. Nothing looked like diapers, so maybe a dog. Some of the plastic bags appeared to be heavy, so could be cans of dog food.

Back to Mr. Hunk, ouch, he'd just banged his head on the door frame as he backed out and said something to Red who pawed through a bag and handed him something that Melanie couldn't identify. Whatever it was, it was what Mr. Hunk wanted, for back inside the car he went.

Huh. She munched on another bite of pretzel. She should go. Her lunch hour was over. Past over, she really should be going.

Oh, oh, what was he doing now? Oh dear, he was throwing things out of the car to land willy-nilly on the ground. Melanie sighed in disappointment. Trash? Really? He was going to litter? Empty bottles of water and sports drinks; rags and towels and used wet-wipes along with their empty packages; balled wrappers from pre-packaged food; bags from take out; crushed soda cups followed by lids and bent straws; newspapers and magazines and sheets of papers; wads and wads of paper towels. All tossed and dropped onto the pavement without regard; strewn around his feet, some blowing away. He even kicked bottles aside when one happened to roll against his foot.

Ewww….wet and soiled paper towels…..Melanie squinted….soiled with….with….what was that? _Was that blood_? Vomit? She shuddered. Oh, this was getting interesting now.

Red peeped around the trunk, saw the mess and rolled her eyes, hands going to her hips. Next thing, she popped up with empty bags, yellow rubber gloves on her hands and began to collect everything her hunky boyfriend/husband had thrown out. She even chased down what blew away with the spring breeze. Melanie followed her with the field glasses, chuckling at some of the faces Red made; with her wrinkled nose and crossed eyes, Mel could guess she wasn't having a pleasant time.

With Red off chasing a magazine or some such thing, Mr. Hunk was again out of the car, irritably pushing his hair out of his eyes as he spoke. Yes, he was definitely speaking, but dammit, she still couldn't hear a freaking word he was saying. So, okay, no baby, no dog…..what the hell was he doing and who the hell was he talking to?

He pulled a phone from the front pocket of his jeans and either made a call or answered one. Melanie hadn't heard the phone ring but that didn't mean it hadn't. He didn't talk long and returned the phone to his pocket before ducking back into the car.

More movement, it looked like he was arguing with something, oh wait, there….he was picking something up. Finally! Now come on, your royal gooeyness, bring it out so I can see what the hell you've been doing for the past 15 minutes.

She glanced at her watch, closer to 30 minutes. Huh? Really? Oh-oh, she was late – very late – getting back to work. She should go….she should see what Mr. Hunk was doing now.

Red was back. Minus her yellow gloves, she pulled something from a bag and shut the trunk. She then put the bags of trash in the cart, spoke to Mr. Hunk, listened to his response, nodded, and handed him a plastic tub of wet wipes. He smiled at her, popped the top, plucked out several wipes and toweled off his hands and his, beautiful, lovely forearms before plucking several more and wiping his face and neck. Red glared at him when he balled them up and let them fall to the ground. Her hands went to her hips and her foot tapped as she gave him a stern talking to.

Mr. Hunk grinned at her sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. She caved like wet cardboard, patting his arm and producing a roll of paper towels from somewhere. Tearing off several, she stooped to collect the thoughtlessly discarded used wipes and stuffed all into a bag in her cart. Mr. Hunk looked so sad, so apologetic, that Red impulsively gave him a hug before toddling off, pushing the cart with the bags of trash. Melanie followed her progress until she disappeared back into the store before returning her attention to Mr. Hunk. Where was he? He couldn't have…..oh. Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh….

OH. MY. GOD!

Mr. Hunk was nowhere in sight, but – there, oh, right there! – slumped against the side of the car, his weight supported by one hip propped against the wheel panel, blinking against the bright sunshine was…was….was…. _Mr. Yummy._

Ooohhh…..oohhhh…..yum-hum. Oh yeah. Best. Lunch. Ever.

He casually….um….lounged – yes, _lounged_ – for there was no other way to describe his pose against the car, all loose-limbed wearing a black t-shirt and loose fitting jeans that had seen better days. He had one boot on, his other foot sporting a sock. He was rumpled and disheveled and in complete disarray and to Melanie, no man had ever looked sexier. His left arm was held awkwardly across his stomach, a bottle of purple liquid dangling from lax fingers and his left shoulder was hunched stiffly.

She gasped, fingertips pressed against her lips, pretzel long finished. His stance, his face, his wince….said it all….he was in pain. _Oh! No!_

He yawned lazily, wincing as though his jaw had cracked and ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight uneasily. He massaged his brow line with forefinger and thumb, trying to rub away a headache. He cocked his head, neither turning nor leaving the support of the car when a hand reached out backwards from the interior of the backseat. It flapped around until it found a leg to pester and Mr. Yummy finally dropped his hand from his head and accepted the blob of blue he was obviously meant to take. He then simply held as if he didn't know what it was or what to do with it.

As Melanie watched, he avoided looking up at the sky, staring down at his feet as he shifted his weight to the foot wearing a boot and used his socked foot to wiggle and work at the laces. Obviously he wanted the boot off but was either unwilling or unable to raise his foot or bend over.

The longer she watched him, the more obvious it became he was definitely favoring his left arm/shoulder…..in fact he wasn't moving it at all. And when she lingered on his face, she became aware he was actually in extreme discomfort. Yes, she nodded, outright pain.

The bottle finally fell from his limp fingers and hit the ground with a splat loud enough to cause Mr. Hunk's head to pop out from the depths of the backseat. Aah, so that was where he'd gone. He said something, Mr. Yummy shrugged with one shoulder and shook his head. Mr. Hunk, sitting on his knees on the backseat, settled his ass on his heels and reached over and around to guide Mr. Yummy's right hand, still holding the blob of blue, up to his left shoulder with what was, evidently from the scowl on Mr. Yummy's face, either a reprimand or command to keep it there.

Red had yet to return and Mr. Hunk disappeared once again into the apparently endless back seat, leaving Mr. Yummy slumped against the car still working his boot off with the toes of his other foot.

Melanie was hard pressed not to jump out of her car and rush over to help and comfort him, for he looked ready to pass out. When he licked his lips in thirst and stared mournfully at the splashed liquid pooled around his feet, she caught herself with her hand on the door handle.

"Duh Mel." she muttered. Something told her the offer of her aid would not be appreciated nor would Mr. Hunk be receptive to her interference, no matter how well intended.

The wind shifted and hallelujah, she could now hear an occasional word, or grunt from the two men occupying both her time and her attention. She couldn't make out what they were talking about, but conversing they were, for every now and again Mr. Hunk popped his head up over his shoulder to make sure Mr. Yummy was still on his feet.

She heard: 'Ice' 'Soon' 'Minute' 'I know' 'Sorry' 'Motel'.

It took her a moment to realize all the words she heard came from the man whose head continued to pop up and over and out and back in, the backseat the entire time she watched. Heck, how was he getting anything done inside the car when he was constantly looking out of it?! And apparently, he-who-slouched-against-the-car must be saying or asking something, for why ever would Mr. Hunk respond if he wasn't?

Melanie shook her head and adjusted the glasses. She hadn't noticed a chill but Mr. Yummy was shivering and Mr. Hunk had emerged from the car with a jacket in his hands. There were words. There were hand gestures. There was a stand-off. Finally Mr. Hunk balled the jacket and chucked it into the car. More hand-waving and hair tossing, Mr. Hunk stomped a foot, but Mr. Yummy neither moved nor replied.

Suddenly, Mr. Hunk bent over…..boy-oh-boy, what a nice view….my goodness but it was suddenly warm in her car and Melanie fanned herself ineffectually with a napkin. Mr. Hunk was now squatting and damn, she couldn't see what he was doing, her view blocked by a firm back. Both hands back on the binoculars, she leaned a bit to the left, then to the right, then back left. Mr. Hunk stood up, stretching his back, the boot in his hand chucked after the jacket into the depths of the VW-Bug-Clown-Car's backseat.

Huh, in his other hand was a bottle of water he had produced from 'nowhere' that he uncapped and handed to Mr. Yummy, who made no move to accept it. No, he stared at it as if it were an exotic bug that had landed on his hand and required further perusal.

Melanie expected Mr. Hunk to become impatient and frustrated but he remained calm and reached to take the blob of blue from Mr. Yummy so the man in the black t-shirt could take the bottle of water and raise it to his lips. How come she'd never noticed how attractive men could be wearing simple t-shirts? Attractive and _sexy_! Well, she corrected herself, some men. These men.

Mr. Hunk said: 'You good?"

To which the man in black replied: "Will be."

And Mr. Hunk said: "Don't step in that."

Red was back, her cart holding 3 bags of ice. This time, Mr. Hunk moved to help her. He popped the trunk and removed an old metal ice chest that he sat on the pavement. Geesch, Melanie thought, just how big was that trunk anyway? Red moved over to Mr. Yummy and proceeded to fuss and coddle as she petted and patted him; smoothing his hair, holding his chin, rubbing his shoulder, chafing his wrist, squeezing his fingers, tweaking his bicep, tickling his belly, chatting away, not waiting for him to reply as she assured herself he was 'alright'.

Mr. Hunk picked up a bag of ice in each hand and thumped their bottoms against the pavement to break it up before dumping the contents into the cooler. He repeated the same procedure with the third bag then bent over the opened trunk and rooted through the various bags Red had deposited earlier.

Melanie didn't mind. No, indeed not. She'd much rather watch denim clad buttocks strain and bunch in the trunk of a car then Red mother-hen Mr. Yummy. And yes, she was jealous, dammit. Maybe Red belonged to Mr. Yummy rather than Mr. Hunk.

Finally though, all good things came to an end and Mr. Hunk came out from the trunk with a box in his hands that he tore open, and after a warning glare from Red, tossed empty back into the truck after removing its contents.

An ice bag. And a big one.

He unscrewed the lid, squatted next to the ice chest, filled it with broken ice then set it aside. Red handed him several of the largest zip-lock bags Melanie had ever seen that he filled individually with ice before passing them back to Red who put them in a pail, that once full, she set on the floor of the backseat.

Wow, that was a lot of ice!

Mr. Yummy raised the bottle to his mouth and managed to take a sip, maybe two before wincing and slowly lowering his arm to let his hand dangle, and when Melanie worked the wheel on the binoculars to re-sharpen their focus, she saw the shadows under his eyes, the paleness to his cheeks despite his tan, his mouth drawn tight, his hand shaking and came to the only conclusion she possibly could; keeping his arm raised caused him distress – hurt him.

Oh, the poor boy!

Red gently took the bottle and offered him more but he shook his head and she capped it and tossed it into the front seat, coming out with a well-worn front-zippered sweat jacket. She was talking to him, and he was shaking his head, giving her a slight shrug. She was unhappy but accepted his refusal and appeared satisfied. However, Mr. Hunk most certainly did not.

He came around the side of the car, hands reaching for Mr. Yummy who scowled and shook his head irritably, raising his right hand to ward him off. That only agitated Mr. Hunk and it wasn't even a girlish slap fight; Mr. Hunk easily got his way.

Mr. Hunk bunched Mr. Yummy's t-shirt in his fist and raised the hem up to his armpit, exposing his belly. Melanie gasped. Mr. Yummy's stomach and torso was severely bruised and his left side down to his hip was red and raw, as though his skin had been dragged across harsh, unforgiving pavement. What looked like a row of stitches but could just be a wound of some kind, curved from just below to his belly button around his right side. Why, no wonder raising his arm and holding it up was hard for him to do!

Mr. Yummy pushed at Mr. Hunk's wrist until he dropped his hold on the shirt and stepped back, saying something to Red. Mr. Yummy moved away from the car, careful not to step in the spilled liquid and ran his hand down his face. A gesture he probably instantly regretted because Mr. Hunk captured his arm and man-handled it into the sleeve of the sweat-jacket.

Mr. Yummy scowled and pouted and protested with pursed lips and scrunched nose but Mr. Hunk persisted and brought the jacket across the back of Mr. Yummy's shoulders. He didn't try to force Mr. Yummy to move his left arm, just bent over so he could see to insert the zipper into the catch and zip the jacket over his immobile left arm.

Mr. Yummy glared. And scowled.

Red handed a bottle to Mr. Hunk who used his teeth to pop the lid, then shook out 2 pills that he offered, palm up, to Mr. Yummy who apparently questioned what they were before taking them and popping them into his mouth. He swallowed with a wince and Mr. Hunk opened a bottle of orange liquid and popped a straw through its neck.

He offered it to Mr. Yummy who glared at it, lip curled in distaste, then at Mr. Hunk before accepting it and taking the straw between his teeth. Red was fluffing a pillow and shaking out blankets while the two men conversed. Melanie sighed, once again she couldn't make out any words because the timber of their voices was too low.

Not Red's though. She was on her knees in the backseat and turned around to address the men as they apparently argued.

"Guys, see reason. Motel." she spread her hands in a plea of peace. "Me Big Girl." she jabbed her chest with her thumb with a cheesy grin. "I'll be fine in the room next door, okay? That settled? Now Dean come on, made it all comfy for you back here, smells much better and there's a cheap pail, upchuck in it if you gotta hurl, okay?" she waited, then clapped her hands, crawling out of the car. "Sam, make him get in the car and lay down."

Odd, Melanie thought, what wife/girlfriend would willingly spend a night in her own motel room, away from either of them?

That request made Mr. Hunk grin. Apparently no one made Mr. Yummy do anything he didn't want to do.

More mumbled talking, more hand waving, more head shaking. Red threw her hands up in despair and stomped off with the cart to return it to the cart corral. By the time she returned, Mr. Hunk had prevailed and Mr. Yummy was sitting on the back seat. He slowly pulled one leg into the car at a time, placing his feet around the pail of ice bags still on the floor.

His arm still zippered against his side by the jacket made his movements awkward but he managed to slide across the seat and lay down. At least, that's what Melanie assumed he did, for he disappeared from sight. She believed Mr. Hunk hadn't so much won the stand-off as weariness and pain had overcome Mr. Yummy's determination to thwart him.

She continued to watch as Mr. Hunk ducked through the door to fuss and fumble and do god-knew what, but she didn't mind not being able to see exactly what he was doing. Huh-uh, no, not at all. She was content to watch his hips move and the denim pull taut across his hamstrings.

When he removed bags of ice from the pail, one at a time, she could guess what had transpired within the back seat: Mr. Yummy had lain down on the seat, made comfy as a man with his injuries could be made with pillows and blankets and bags of ice. Oh, she hoped he didn't have far to ride in the car. No matter how large the car was, he couldn't possibly be comfortable riding for any distance.

Finally, Mr. Hunk backed out of the car and closed the door. Red waited for him, her elbows on the closed trunk of the car.

"Home's hours away yet." Red said.

Mr. Hunk shrugged, pushing his hair out of his face. Oh, he was tired. It showed in his expression, his eyes, the lines around his mouth, the motion of his hand. And still, Melanie couldn't make out what he said in response.

"Yeah, I can drive the distance." Red answered. "Doesn't mean I should."

Mr. Hunk shrugged again, said something else and Red pushed off the trunk.

"I say we drive as long as the pills hold him." she said. "Soon as he shows sign they're wearing off, no matter where we are, we find a motel."

That appeased Mr. Hunk for he gave Red a hug and got into the front passenger seat. Red peeked through the backdoor window, made sure no trash or bags or personal items had been left on the pavement and rounded the car to open the driver's door. Her expression revealed she wasn't as cheery and carefree as she outwardly portrayed. No, she was worried and troubled and took care to hide it for the benefit of Mr. Hunk.

Melanie's phone chirped and Red paused, casting a suspicious look around the parking lot. Melanie silenced the phone and held her breath. She didn't know why she felt nervous; discovery of her spying couldn't in anyway hurt her but she didn't relax until Red got in the car and shut the door.

The black cars engine turned over with a roar, settling into a purr as the car idled. Melanie waited for them to leave, wondering who they were and what had happened and where they were going. Her phone vibrated and this time she answered it.

"Mel? Where the hell are you?"

"I'm on my way back. Got distracted." she snorted, distracted indeed!

She waited until the big black car had pulled out of the lot and disappeared from sight before reaching to start her own car. Wait….what the…..where was...her car had a steering wheel, she was sure it did, it had to have one, she'd driven here, but…no, it wasn't in front of her….where it belonged….not…..now….where the hell was she? How had…..how had she ended up in her passenger seat!? And when had it happened? She laughed, moving her ass back over to the driver's seat. Oh lordy-ho!

She started her own car. Yeah, she'd lost more than an hour's pay taking such an extended lunch, but damn, it'd been the Best. Lunch. Ever.


End file.
